Chain Quest
by GrayWindRising
Summary: An utterly incompatible pickup group goes forth on an absurdly overcomplicated chain of quests, while Azeroth plunges into political turmoil and chaos. Filled with psychotic tauren, pansy warlocks, fiendish priests, and all sorts of cliches like that.
1. Looking For Group

-1**Looking For Group**

No matter how great the warrior, eventually a quest comes along that is simply too much for one adventurer to face. Some incredible ordeal, some enormous feat of might rears its head and demands the attention of an entire group of do-gooders. Or do-badders, as sometimes happens.

Some heroes join guilds of like-minded individuals, and call upon these fellows to help them in their most difficult of tasks. Even so, sometimes even guilds are not available, and some heroes must rely not on friends that they know well, but upon complete strangers. Yes, these unfortunate souls must do the most unthinkable, amoral and unsanitary thing imaginable.

They must form a pick-up group.

* * *

"Here are those onions you asked for!" The guard snorted, awakened from his nap by the obnoxiously friendly voice of his recently hired errand boy.

The guard accepted the sack, not even bothering to check to see if the proper amount was inside. "Nice job, kid," he said, "Here's your reward for all that hard work."

The guard flicked a single copper coin through the air. The deliverer, an orc with a face and head completely devoid of any hair whatsoever, somehow, squealed with joy, jumping to catch the single coin, overjoyed despite the fact that he had earned almost nothing for buying a sack of onions at least four hundred times the amount of the reward. He leaned back in his jump to follow the coin, and so landed on his back. Bouncing back up, he smiled from ear to ear at the guard. "So what else can I do? Do you have any more quests for me?"

"Oh give me a _break_ kid!" the guard folded his newspaper with a scowl, glaring at the orc, "I've sent you hunting boars, collecting onions, delivering packages of vegetable oil to old hermits in the middle of monster infested wilderness, and cleaning stables that cannot be cleaned! What more do you want from me?!"

The orc looked down, apparently upset. The guard might have felt bad, if this particular orc did not become upset every time his tone changed. "I'm sorry sir… It's just, I wanted to help, and I have to make money, and the knitting business just isn't doing well…"

"Knitting?" Well, that explained a thing or two, the guard decided. The boy was a sissy! "Look kid, this is _Orgrimmar_! A famed warrior city of thugs and brutes and axes! Ever heard of it? No one cares about crocheting, or whatever you do, here!"

"Knitting…" he corrected meekly.

"Whatever. Look, you want a quest? I've got one: take these onions to Diesel in the Cleft of Shadow. You know where that is? Good. And do NOT come back. Diesel will give you your next quest. Also, if you can't find him, do NOT come back here to ask where he is. He's just THERE."

The orc grinned. "Thanks, sir! Your delivery is safe with me!" With that, the young warlock scurried off.

The guard shook his head. "Geez, what a pansy. And to think he's an orc, and a warlock, no less!"

* * *

Shaded by tarps hanging across the top of the canyon, the Drag was the coolest part of Orgrimmar, coolest here meaning 'lowest in temperature', and not 'most hip and amusing' as in some silly modern slang. The Drag was a pleasant place to get away from the heat and beating sun, but it was also attractive to many shadier sorts of people, as well as bums and losers.

One such bum was a young Orc warrior, by the name of Kival, an unremarkable orc with long black hair and a face that seemed stuck in a permanent mope. She moped about the Drag, much as she moped around every other place she went. In the Drag, however, she could mope around without fear of getting a sunburn, which was _never_ fun. Not that anything was fun.

Kival sighed morosely, lying down in the middle of the street, wondering if she should get up and actually do something with her life. Then she remembered that she could do nothing, and stayed where she was. Then she thought about making it to the top of the warrior class, and considered rising from her fetal position. Afterward, she remembered that many other people had "hit endgame", as they called it, in much shorter periods of time, and she became so depressed that she did not move. Kival's mental state could be described in this way for another paragraph or so, but for the sake of brevity, moving on appeared to be necessary.

As Kival moped there, staring up at the sky with a miserable expression, the sound of a very large animal coming toward her became audible. Kival considered moving out of the way, then decided that the large animal could get out of _her_ way, because she lacked the willpower and desire to move, even for the sake of self-preservation. Besides, what kind of jerk would run over some poor, washed up orc lying in the middle of the road?

Unfortunately for Kival, Rosham was that kind of jerk, and deliberately planted one large hoof on her stomach as he ran by, shaking the entire city with the rude severity of his footfalls. Kival rolled over in pain. "Figures," she droned, speaking in a monotone.

Rosham, having inflicted a little suffering, chuckled over, and then forgot about the bum in the street, and went back to thinking about all the heads he would get to smash together when he reached the battleground. Oh yes indeed, he did look forward to the Arathi Basin weekends! Only when he was hurting things could the Tauren feel ALIVE!

* * *

Diesel, as might have been expected by less trusting people, was not to be found, so the hairless orc wandered around the Cleft of Shadows with a large sack of onions, and no one to give it to.

However, being the smart (or at least, reasonably capable of basic mental processes) warlock that he was, he quickly summoned someone to help him. That someone was Volgrax, a large, blue, shadowy and altogether intimidating creature who leered around with glowing eyes and tore at the air with massive fists.

After that short outburst, the Voidwalker then turned to the warlock to straighten his robe. "Tsk, look at you! How can you be so messy? Have I taught you _nothing_? Ornery, really, you could at least try to remain presentable between the times you summon me. And speaking of which, do you realize how long it's been? I've been worried to death, but you can't even be bothered to summon me and tell me how you are!"

Ornery blushed, scratching the back of his head and kicking at the ground bashfully. "Gee, I'm sorry Volgrax. I guess I just got caught up with the easy quests where I didn't need help… Speaking of which, I really need your help-"

"Oh ho! So that's why you called me! And here I thought you actually wanted to talk to your poor, old, neglected Voidwalker minion!" Volgrax turned, crossing her arms and sticking her nose (or lack thereof) in the air to pout, "I am _not_ pleased, Ornery."

"But Volgrax-"

"Hmph!"

"Aw, come on! I'll make it up to you!"

The large demon paused, then half turned around to regard him. "Dinner at the Crossroads Inn, and we'll call it even. And get a girlfriend, for Darkness' sake! You worry me sometimes! Now what did you want help with?"

After Ornery described the situation to her, Volgrax sighed. "Honey, you've been swindled. Again. That guy was just getting rid of you. I told you those quests seemed bogus, but as _usual_, you didn't listen to _me_. Not that _I_ know anything. I'm just three _thousand_ years older than you."

Shuffling his feet, Ornery managed an awkward smile. "You don't look a day over twenty!"

"Thank you dear, but sucking up won't help you now. Anyway, no one is going to buy a sack of onions, so just get rid of it. We'll have to find something else for you to do. Oh, it's silly how much I have to do for you! I do wish you could take care of yourself…"

"Did somebody say 'hapless and easily manipulated nincompoop'?"

Ornery blinked, searching for the source of the voice. He finally noticed a goblin emerging from the shadows of the cave entrance to the Cleft, a goblin in rags with a peg leg and a sly grin, much like the sly grins most goblins seem to wear all the time. The warlock smiled at the goblin. "Nope, not me! I never said that!"

Volgrax glared at the goblin. "Get lost, you nasty little street urchin."

The goblin's sneer faded as he glanced at the bulky demon. "Was that thing talking? It sounded like it was just groaning to me."

The Voidwalker began saying very rude and explicit things while Ornery shrugged at the goblin, "I understand everything she says."

With an incredulous stare at Ornery, the goblin resumed his sly sneering. "Anyway, I couldn't help but overhear that you need work. I happen to be in need of some help myself! How would'ja like to work for old Sneeg for a while?"

Volgrax huffed at the goblin, turning to Ornery. "Say no! You shouldn't get involved with such nasty people! He's a _bad_ influence!"

"Okie-dokie! What's the job?" The Voidwalker smacked a large hand against her face. The orc smiled obliviously.

Sneeg smirked. "I'm glad to hear that, sonny! Now then, the job's real simple-like! So simple even a _gnome_ could do it, and that's simple, ya know what I mean? Anyway, all's ya gotta do is deliver this here package to my contact up in Northern Kalimdor. It's real simple-like, ya see? Just one of them delivery quests, ya know what I mean?"

"Ornery, honey, please," Volgrax put her hands on her hips (as in, the place where her torso ended and her legs would have begun, if she had legs and wasn't a floating shadow demon) and frowned severely at the orc, "please tell me you're not buying this act. This guy is obviously sending you off to be some sort of illegal material mule! You could be arrested!"

"It's a deal!" Ornery shouted, holding out a hand to shake Sneeg's.

The goblin looked disdainfully at the proffered hand. "Sorry kid, I don't do right-handed handshakes. You wanna know why?" Ornery nodded hesitantly, "You don't wanna know why. You know why? You don't know why. I'll tell ya anyway," with that, the goblin raised his right hand, which ended in a steel hook.

The orc warlock blanched, but resumed his happy expression after a moment as he lowered his right hand to raise his left. "It's a deal!"

"Kid, I don't do left-handed handshakes either. You wanna know why? You don't wanna know why. I'm gonna show you anyway, though," Sneeg's left hand ended in a scimitar, "You wanna know how I lost my hands? You don't wanna know how I lost my hands."

"But- but I do wanna know…"

Sneeg leaned forward, prompting Ornery to lean down toward the goblin. The handless shady fellow whispered conspiratorially "Unfortunate fish-feeding accident. You wanna know what kind of fish? You don't wanna know what kind of fish, you know what I mean?"

"N-no, I don't know what you mean…"

"Well, you better wise up, you know what I mean? Tough world, kid, tough world. You better be ready, you know what I mean? Anyway, you might wanna find yourself some muscle for this job, kid. Don't wanna be hoofing it alone out in the world, you know what I mean?"

"Not really…"

"Get a group for this quest."

"Oh, okay! I understand!" Ornery beamed, walking away, "I'll be back when I find some group members to help me with my quest-"

"No no no!" Ornery blinked, stopping while the goblin rushed at him, looking somewhat nervous, "You better take the package now. Don't need to tell anybody the details, you know what I mean? Have them go with the flow."

The warlock nodded. Sneeg hooked his hook into the string wrapped around a plain brown box hidden in the shadowy doorway he had emerged from not long before, holding it out for Ornery to take. The box had the words "Danger: Don't open if you want to stay alive! Open only if you are really, really stupid and/or wish to cause untold damage and harm to the world" written on the lid in purple marker. The orc took the package, slipping it into his bag, but then looked questioningly at Sneeg. "So what's in the box?"

"You wanna know what's in this package?" He nodded. "You don't wanna know what's in this package." With that, Sneeg slunk away.

Ornery turned to Volgrax to give her the good news about his new job, but was surprised to see the angry look on her face. "You _never_ listen to me! Ornery, that goblin was clearly some sort of gangster, or something terrible like that! You could be getting into a lot of trouble young man!" Furious, Volgrax banished herself, leaving the warlock alone.

The warlock was upset, but quickly got over it. He would talk to Volgrax later. But he was lonely, so he summoned Piznik to keep him company until he found his group. The small imp didn't take long to appear, and took even less time to kick Ornery in the shin, knock him to the ground, and stand on his throat with balls of fire glowing in his hand.

In a rough and surprisingly deep voice for such a small creature, Piznik growled at Ornery, "WHAT did I tell you about summoning me, you stupid green idiot?! I'm a very important demon, and I do NOT like to be disturbed unless by coming to this stupid plane of existence I get to slaughter hordes of innocents!"

Ornery whimpered. "S-sorry master, but I was lonely, and Volgrax was mad at me, and I need to find a group-"

"A group for killing things?"

"Well, we might have to fight something…"

Piznik cheered, jumping up and down on Ornery, causing the unfortunate orc more pain than he probably deserved. "Sweet! For once, I get some use out of you! Find that group, fast, so we can go kill things!"

* * *

Kival had resumed laying about miserably, when a sudden shout pierced the relative peace of the Orgrimmar midday. A sudden shout of "LOOKING FOR GROUP!"

Kival sighed. People were always looking for groups to go off and do deeds of derring-do, but all they ever really did was kill innocent animals, deface public property, and receive petty rewards that brought them closer to that practically unattainable peak of skill. And what happened when they finally made it to the top? Happiness? Peace? Endless riches? The miserable warrior didn't care enough to ponder it anymore.

"LOOKING FOR GROUP! PLEASE HELP ME!"

"HEY, SHADDUP! YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO GO AROUND SHOUTING THAT ANYMORE! THE NEW THING IS TO ENTER THE LISTS!"

"OH, SORRY! I FORGOT! I'LL STOP SHOUTING NOW! HEY, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN MY GROUP? BIG REWARDS, I BET!"

"Well… NO! STOP YELLING YOU IDIOT!"

"SORRY, IT'S JUST THAT I REALLY NEED A GROUP!"

"SO GO FIND ONE SOMEWHERE ELSE! I'M TRYING TO TRADE STUFF HERE!"

"WILL BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP?!"

"HEY, BITE ME YOU LOSER!"

"GEE, I DIDN'T MEAN TO START AN ARGUMENT… PLEASE DON'T FIGHT! I'LL STOP SHOUTING!"

"WELL THEN DO IT, YOU IDIOT!"

"LEAVE THE KID ALONE YOU BIG JERK!"

"EVERYBODY QUIET!"

Kival sighed. So much for the peace and quiet. She stuck her fingers in her ears, but soon all of Orgrimmar was shouting at one another about how everyone else was being too loud, and the warrior couldn't drown it out even by moaning as loudly as she could about how unhappy she was. Eventually she gave up and decided to not notice the noise by being completely absorbed in her moping.

After only a short time, however, an earnest poking in between her shoulder blades brought her back to the present, and she rolled over to see an orc standing over her. He smiled in an obnoxiously happy way, which only made Kival more depressed. "Hi! Wanna join my group on a dangerous but completely reputable quest?"

She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he would go away if she made him feel awkward enough. Sadly, it didn't work, so Kival sighed. "I don't quest."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll never make it anywhere in the world, so it's a waste of time to try."

"Then how do you have enough money to buy food and survive?"

"Welfare and begging. Please stop reminding me about how unhappy I am and just go away."

"Are you sure you don't want to come? I don't really know what the rewards are, but I bet they'll be really good and you'll end up super rich and powerful!"

Kival sighed. "Please go away. I want to lie around depressed in peace."

"Why?"

"Because I'm so unhappy that I don't feel like moving, and having someone who is happy around just reminds me of how unhappy I am, and so I become more depressed. It's a vicious cycle."

"But, if you don't even try to be happy, won't you be unhappy forever?"

"Probably. It's not a lot, but it's my lot in life."

"Well, why don't you just try to be happy?"

Kival sighed. Stupid happy people and their overly easy solutions that never worked out. Then again, begging hadn't been working out very well lately. Apparently, people were becoming stingier lately. Kival sighed, realizing that she really had nothing better to do, and her daily moping had become much less fulfilling than it used to be. "Okay, fine. I'll come."

The orc cheered. "I'm Ornery, and this is Piznik!"

Kival glanced down to notice a small, spindly creature that appeared to be wreathed in green flames. The imp hadn't taken part in the coercion because it had been distracted by the decimation of a nearby house. "Name's Kival," she said, somewhat off-put by the small demon and its happy-go-lucky master.

* * *

"What do ya MEAN the battleground is CLOSED?! How can a war have a day off?! That don't make any sense at all! Why you conniving orcs, I bet y'all are trying to help them Alliance fools win!"

The large Tauren stormed out of the hall, furious. Rosham made sure to knock over several people walking near him as he made his way to the passage from the Valley of Honor to the Drag. How dare they close Arathi Basin?! How was he going to satisfy his craving for mayhem and destruction now?

Nearby, the hairless Ornery and foot-dragging Kival were approaching another orc, one bedecked in silver armor. Ornery ran up, waving, "Hello there! Would you like to join my group?"

"PUG? WTF?"

Ornery blinked, shocked. "Um…excuse me?"

"U no t8lk 733T? U R teh n00b! LOL!"

Ornery glanced back and Kival, who sighed. "He's a leet-speaker."

"A- a what? What's that?"

"The younger generation, all those people who were too young to fight in the Third War. That completely unintelligible manner of speaking is some kind of ridiculous new trend to show how much better they are than we oldsters. The sad part is, that absurd way of talking is apparently faster, so they manage to ascend through the ranks more quickly."

"I R teh pwnzor! U R n00bs ROFLcopter!"

Ornery backed away. "Let's, uh, not invite him. He scares me."

"U nnja lootr!"

Ornery and Kival quickly retreated from the now-shouting orc to find a more decipherable ally. Sadly, what they ran into was the solid hairy wall of Rosham.

The Tauren loomed over them, glaring at the two orcs. Ornery cowered, "Um, looking for group?"

Rosham guffawed. "What do I look like to ya? Ya think I just go around, offering my valuable services to every random nobody what dares ask for 'em? I'm Rosham, greatest Hunter in Mulgore, and I ain't workin' no quests," After a brief pause, he added "for free!"

"Uh- oh! It's not free!" While still trembling, Ornery managed a tentative smile, "Sneeg offered big rewards! I don't really know what they are but-"

"Did ya check the bottom of the quest log?" Rosham sighed at Ornery's blank look, then grabbed a scroll from thin air over Ornery's head and unrolled it. "Lessee, 'Shady Delivery'. Ooh, THAT'S a creative title. Sounds reputable too. So simple a gnome could do it, blah blah blah, Northern Kalimdor, tum te tum, ah, here we are," The Tauren's eyes bulged, "The Hammer of Painfulness?! The Vorpal Rifle?! Helm of the Chupacabra?! G'damn, son, this here's a real catch of a quest, and just a delivery quest too! I'm in!"

The warlock brightened up. "Really? That's great! I'm Orn-"

"Don't care."

"You don't want to know our names?"

"Nope. I'm in for the prizes, Besides, I'm way tougher than either of ya pansies, so I'm doin' this alone. Rosham the Reprehensible needs no group to slow him down!"

Kival sighed. "Sorry, Ornery, it's my fault. Whenever I join a group, the group disperses. No one likes me, for some reason."

Rosham sauntered off, cackling to himself, leaving the two-orc group behind in the Valley of Honor. Ornery scratched his shiny dome, looking downcast. "Well, I guess we could try to do the quest with just the two of us…"

"Bad idea," Kival said, "I'm widely known to be the worst warrior in the world, with the highest survivability rating. Whenever I'm in a group, everyone in the group dies but me. So you might want to have a priest… just in case."

As if on cue, a priest appeared, quite literally landing in their laps. Or rather, the ground in front of them. Lying in a twisted, moaning heap, the fallen troll was only distinguishable as a priest by his extremely stained white robes, and if it weren't for his elongated facial features and bright red mohawk, he might not be obvious as a troll, as his tusks were rather miniscule, and his blue skin was so grimy that it appeared to be some shade of yellow.

Ornery blinked. He leaned over and poked the troll insistently until he stirred and managed to moan "Quit poking me, greenie."

Ornery squealed, jumping away, as the priest rose, rubbing his head. "Stupid gangsters. How was I supposed to know that was the Godfather's daughter… Didn't have to take all my stuff…" He noticed the two orcs staring at him and scowled, "Museum's closed today, kiddies. Go see some other exhibit."

"S-sorry…" Ornery said, then brightened, "You want to join our group?"

The troll scowled further. "I don't accept random party invitations, baldy. Besides, I'm a very busy ma-"

"Hey, there's that priest! Thought we might have lost him after we tossed him off the ledge!"

"Let's go beat him up some more!"

The priest blanched, grabbing the two orcs by the arms and dragging them toward the Drag. "Okay, I accept. Let's go party or whatever!"

"Really? That's great! I'm Ornery, and this is Kival! But wait, don't you want to know what quest we're doing before you come with us?"

"Uh, sure, in a minute. Please walk faster!"

* * *

"Sheesh, a delivery quest. That sounds almost too easy to be true. And the rewards! I've never even heard of that much gold. Sure, I'm in."

Ornery cheered. "We have a priest, Kival! Isn't that great? I'm sure you must be happy now!"

The warrior managed a weak shrug of indifference.

Ornery turned back to the troll, unaffected by his companion's lack of motivation. "So what's your name? Where are you from? What sort of tragic backstory do you have? Why are you all dirty? Why did you fall in front of us? Why did you make us run away? Why-"

"Whoa, slow down, tiger. One question at a time. I'll tell _you_ a tragic backstory. I happen to be the late Prince Adolphus Elexander Keander XXXIV, last heir to the throne of the island kingdom of El Hawmuda, which was recently conquered by the treachery of my wicked uncle. Those thugs chasing me are his villainous cohorts. They've been chasing me for years, and I haven't had a moment's peace since the day my father died."

The warlock's eyes grew huge and his jaw dropped. "You- you're a prince!" He fell to the ground in genuflection, "Your _majesty_!"

Kival sighed. "Ornery, he's obviously lying. He's not _really_ a prince. That island doesn't exist…"

"Your majesty!"

The troll smiled slyly. "There's a good subject. Anyway, let's get going already, get the whole quest thing over with. You may carry me, orc boy."

Ornery stood up and shook his head adamantly. "Not until we have a whole group! We can't go with only three people! That would be madness! Maybe that Rosham the Reprehensible will help us…"

The Prince laughed. "Rosham the _what_? You don't mean that psychotic hunter that goes around blasting civilians with a gigantic rifle? Why would you want him? I hear he kills his group when he's done questing. Do you really want to go on a dangerous quest with an even more dangerous group member killing everything in a three mile radius?"

"Of course! He's our friend!"

The Prince glanced at Kival questioningly, but the orc only shrugged disconsolately. With a sigh, the priest said "I don't think you can count on him for help. If you really want a full group, I'd say you should turn to others…"

Ornery nodded, cupping his hands around his mouth. "LOOKING FOR GROUP! PLEASE COME TALK TO M-"

"OH NOT YOU AGAIN!"

"SORRY!"

The Prince smacked Ornery on the shoulder. "Not like _that_. Geez, that's how bad pick-up groups form, you idiot. You have to find people you know to be good at what they do, then invite them on a more personal basis."

"You mean," Kival said glumly, "the way we recruited you?"

The Prince glared at her. "As I was saying, I happen to know a very good mage that might just be available for a job. Of course, I happen to hate his slimy black guts, but he's still pretty competent."

* * *

Lucius Bluch was sitting at a table in the tavern, drinking some sort of alcoholic beverage. Of course, it was probably pointless, as the drink then spilled out of the hole in his stomach and onto the floor.

Indeed, Lucius was Undead, a walking corpse with the skin worn off his claw-like fingers, his spine sticking out, and numerous other bones showing, not to mention the rotted greenish color of his skin. Somehow, though, he had retained his hair, which hung limply down his back, gray and decayed. Altogether, Lucius was a depressing sight, even more so than Kival.

Ornery and Kival were ordered by the Prince to remain several feet away while he talked to the mage, so that they wouldn't interfere with the recruiting process. After a few minutes, the Prince approached, looking triumphant. "Lucius agrees to help us, so long as we pay him half of our individual gold rewards, which of course means that the two of you will each give him half and then half of what's left each so that I don't have to pay any. I have agreed to collect for dear Lucius, so you may hand the gold to me once you get it."

Ornery blinked. "Why do we pay for you?"

The priest looked offended, putting a hand on his chest and gaping with shock. "I am the prince of a dying country that has been conquered by uncaring foreigners! How can you be so selfish that you would deny me even a _single_ piece of copper that might help me finance the liberation of my homeland?"

The warlock turned bright red and began to spout off apologies, begging the Prince's forgiveness and assuring him that he hadn't thought of that. Kival sighed, deciding not to comment, as they would just ignore her anyway.

Lucius chose then to walk, or rather, lurch over and scrutinize his new group. A hapless and trusting idiot, a depressed do-nothing that spoke in a monotone, if at all, and an anointed con-man. This would be _fun_.

Just then, the doorway of the tavern darkened with the entrance of a large shape. Ornery turned and was overjoyed to see Rosham standing there, looking extremely angry. "I knew you were our friend! You came to join our group!"

Rosham glared at the orc. "Not by choice! That razza-frazzin' goblin cripple wouldn't give me the quest. Apparently, he only had one package to deliver, and I didn't want to know what was in it, even though I _told_ the idiot that I _did_ want to know! So if I want that sweet treasure, I'm stuck with ya losers."

The Prince rose, shaking his head frantically. "Sorry, but the group's full. See, we've already fulfilled all the necessities."

"Nuh uh!" Ornery said, "We have room for one more!"

The Prince swiftly kicked the orc, causing him to fall out of his chair. The troll smiled innocently at Rosham, only to be met with the Tauren's usual hostile glare. "I ain't askin' permission, toothy. I'm joinin' this group. Not only that, but I'm takin' over. I am now the oh-ficial leader of this here adventurin' party!"

The Prince blanched. "On whose authority?"

Rosham drew a very large rifle from his back, aiming it directly at the troll. His long nose was actually within the barrel. "Allow me to introduce ya to Gertrude. On her authority, bucko!"

"You uh… make a valid argument," the Prince allowed, swallowing nervously and backing away, "Very well, Rosham is the leader (_of the military, which, as a branch of the prince's command, places you under me_)."

Rosham moved his gun closer to the Prince's face. "I heard that, blue-boy."

"Er…. Sorry. Just… politics, you know? Um, _joke_ politics, of course. You're in charge. Completely, totally in charge, no one to answer to. Can you aim elsewhere now, please?"

* * *

"Now then," Rosham replaced his gun in his holster when they reached the Valley of Strength, the entrance plaza of Orgrimmar, dominated by the massive watchtower from which wyverns bearing passengers flew all over Kalimdor, "Since I've been established as leader, I think we'd better lay down some rules, rules which I, of course, will be layin' down. First of all, are there any _hybrid_ classes present?"

When no one raised their hand, Rosham smiled. "Good. I'll have ya know, them hybrids make me wanna _kill _something. More than usual, anyway. So y'all will be sticking to what yer class was _meant _to do. Whiney Warrior, ya tank. Putrid Priest, ya heal. Mute Mage, ya kill stuff. Wimpy Warlock, ya… well, what _do _warlocks do?"

"We create stones to give our allies quick healing and resurrection or increased aptitude in certain attributes. We can also summon allies from far away, summon demons that can fill a variety of roles, and do lots of neat spells and stuff!"

Rosham glared at Ornery. "So basically, ya do everything. Wouldn't that make ya a hybrid?"

"Well… I don't think so…" Ornery scratched his head as he pondered this, "During a fight, the only thing I can really do is set monsters on fire and stuff."

"Oh good. Had me worried. Wimpy Warlock is on Blasting the Hell Outta Anything That Moves duty with Mute Mage."

"Mute mage?" Surprisingly, Lucius finally spoke up, in a calm voice edged with exasperation, "I'll have you know, you bovine imbecile, that I am fully capable of speech. I simply prefer to stay out of conversations until it is entirely necessary that I partake in them. It allows me to gauge the strength of my allies and enemies and then use this information against them at critical moments that will cause their ultimate downfall and my inevitable victory."

Rosham stared at the mage for a moment, then turned away. "Anyway, if I catch anyone trying to do something out of class, I shoot 'em. Got it?"

The Prince crossed his arms and scowled. "So, you're saying I'm not allowed to use Shadow magic?"

"Nope. First Shadow spell I see, yer dead."

"That practically halves my usefulness in battle! Sure, I can heal, but what if I come under attack? How am I to defend myself without some offensive Shadow magic? Those shields only last so long you know…"

Rosham rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't _care_. Yer the healer. Ya heal. It's that simple. Its my job to kill things, and yer job to keep me alive long enough to kill them. Ya have a problem with that, go find another group, 'cause I ain't letting' no Shadow Priests into my group."

The Prince muttered to himself, but as soon as the hunter drew his gun, the troll immediately went silent.

Rosham then turned to Kival. "Yer the tank, got it? Any complaints?"

"Nope, just the usual ones about how much my life sucks."

"Yer sure? Yer not gonna tell me later that yer supposed to be some kind of berserker warrior, are ya? 'Cause I don't want no berserker warriors in my group!"

"No, I'm defensive. I even use two shields at once."

Rosham blinked. "Ya what? How do ya fight with two shields?"

"I don't," Kival explained dourly, "I'm strictly nonviolent. I only block attacks and push enemies away. I don't _actually_ ever hurt them in any way."

The Tauren glared at her for a moment longer, then turned away to Lucius. "And I assume yer good with yer job?"

"No complaints here," the Undead mage said, "I roast them. My specialty, of course."

Rosham nodded. "Good. I got me a good party here, I think. Now, y'all will be reporting to _me_, got it? Not _nobody_ else! I lead the way. Got it?"

The Prince rolled his eyes, but the rest nodded. Only Ornery seemed particularly enthusiastic about the entire ordeal. Rosham ignored the troll, turning away. "Okay, get whatever ya need, 'cause I ain't makin' no stops along the way!"

The party split up, temporarily, to gather their supplies and such.

* * *

Kival owned little to nothing, most of it worthless trash off the streets. Her nicest belongings were her two, large round shields. Other than that, she was mostly limited to her toothbrush, which hadn't actually been used on her teeth in a while.

After gathering her very small amount of money, Kival stopped to buy shoes. It was therapeutic, she found. She left the shop with a nice new pair of steel-toed chain mail boots, which were rather snazzy, she decided.

* * *

Ornery stopped at the house of his father and brother, the Droffers and Son Salvage Company. There, he was utterly ignored. Ornery picked up a few tomes he had forgotten to use to teach his friends Piznik and Volgrax new demonic powers, as well as his wand and staff, which he thought he might need.

Afterward, all he had to do was say goodbye. His father did not look at him, but his brother, at least, managed a hateful grimace. With that, Ornery left.

* * *

Lucius and the Prince, both of whom kept most of their goods on their persons, went to the tavern for drinks. Lucius had plenty of money to spare, but the Prince ran out almost immediately and ended up starting a small land speculation business. After selling several properties in Northrend to several hapless soldiers, the Prince had plenty of silver to spend all at once on booze.

* * *

Rosham bought ammunition and food. Surprisingly, the hunter really did nothing interesting, which was rather boring from a narrative point of view. If the reader is disappointed in Rosham's lack of humorous exploits, the reader is encouraged to imagine that Rosham was off hunting quillboar and using their hides to create a sail with which he could then fly to the moon and collect some cheese for his grilled cheese sandwich.

Once he was done with the sandwich, Rosham stood, just in time to see his party returning, apparently ready to go. Of course, first they all needed to take a quick bathroom break, as well as grab a spot of lunch (as, apparently, only Rosham had had the sense to eat ahead of time, and alcohol wasn't as filling as the Prince had hoped), before they could finally being their quest.

Before they left, Kival turned to Ornery to ask "Whatever happened to that scary little imp that was following you around before?"

Ornery blinked, then gasped. "Where's Piznik? Oh, I hope he's not getting into trouble…"

Almost as soon as he said that, an explosion rocked Orgrimmar, and a streak of smoke flew through the sky. That streak ended in a ball of fire, which landed a few feet away from the group. The thing that landed turned out to be Piznik.

Ornery ran to the imp, helping him up. "You okay, buddy?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I have my doubts about the Valley of Spirits, though. Anyway, let's get out of here before those guards find me…"

Rosham chuckled. "I like this guy already."


	2. The Barrens

-1**The Barrens**

From Orgrimmar, the party headed southwest, through the red dusts of Durotar, the orcish country on the coast of the sea, to the much greater expanse of wasteland known simply as the Barrens. Though divided only by a river, the two areas were vastly different. The Barrens, a vast desert, laid near the center of Kalimdor, and acted as a great crossroads between several regions. Appropriately, the outpost at the desert's center was named the Crossroads, with roads branching off in the four cardinal directions toward different regions.

"We'll cross the river, then head north toward Ashenvale, where I _assume_ this contact is waiting for us," Lucius said, "There's no need to waste time by stopping at the Crossroads."

The Prince winced, "ooh"ing with trepidation, "That's not going to work for me. See, I need to turn in a quest at the Crossroads. So if we could just make a _quick_ stop."

The Undead mage rolled his eyes. "Fine, one quick stop, but then we're moving on."

So the group headed in the opposite direction, toward the Crossroads. There, the Prince handed a letter to an annoyed butcher. The orc scowled at the priest. "I asked you to deliver that meat _months_ ago! Why are you just now getting back?"

"I was busy, and I forgot," the Prince then took the meager amount of money the butcher gave him to the inn to buy alcohol, ignoring Lucius's protests.

After an hour, Rosham sighed. "This is _borin'_! I'm bored! Ya hear me? I'm gonna go kill something."

Lucius stood up, waving his hands desperately. "No no! As soon as that troll comes back, we need to go to Ashenvale! It's not too late to stay on schedule!"

The tauren waved his hand dismissively, resting his rifle on his shoulder and strutting away. Lucius kneaded his temple while Ornery and Kival stood around for a moment before following Rosham.

As the trio approached the exit onto the road, Ornery happened to notice two soldiers conversing, a rogue and a warrior, by the looks of them. The warlock paused to listen, and was immediately baffled.

"Can u beleve that noob? He's a durid! He doesn't need LETHER!"

"Thats notin! I met a durid that wanted to tank! I was all 'l2play and heal', but he was all 'it's a free country, I wanna tank'!"

"OMG, Chuck Norris!"

Ornery was unaware of a large droplet of drool that was beginning to emerge from the left corner of his mouth, as he was also unaware that his eyes were glazing over. One might have thought that the swift blow to the back of his head by a large shield might have revived him, but instead it knocked him unconscious.

* * *

Not long afterward, Ornery awoke, as he was being dragged unceremoniously across the ground by Kival. He made several noises, which caught her attention. "Oh, you're up. What's that? I can't understand you. If you would stop gasping in agony- oh."

As soon as she stopped dragging him by the throat, Ornery's vocal capacities suddenly increased tenfold. "What happened? Where am I?"

"Y'all were spacin' out," Rosham had paused in his ceaseless marching to glare back at Kival and Ornery, "That's what Barrens chat will do to ya. The best way to avoid it is to… well, not listen, basically."

Ornery blinked. "Barrens…chat? What do you mean?"

Kival sighed. "You have a lot to learn, obviously. I hope you don't turn out to be a cliché clueless hero or something."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Rosham shouted, "I am clearly the hero of this group! Now come on ya pansies, or I'll leave ya behind!"

While both were wondering it, only Ornery actually cared enough to ask, "Where are we going?"

"I got a quest to kill stuff," Rosham said without looking back, "Something about collecting fifty boar tusks… er killin' fifty quillboars… anyway, it involves killin' things and takin' their facial features as trophies, which is good enough fer me!"

The warlock tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That doesn't seem very nice. Maybe if we ask politely, they'll just… _give_ us their tusks."

That was enough to cause Rosham and Kival to stop in their tracks, the tauren with a minor skidding noise. He whirled around to glare at Ornery with disbelief. "_What_? A solution that doesn't involve violence? Are ya_ mad_? That's unheard of! Nothin' can be solved with… with _negotiation_! This is the world of _warcraft_, not the world of _pansycraft_!"

Ornery recoiled fearfully. "S-sorry! I didn't mean to offend you, sir…"

Rosham snorted. "I should HOPE not! Now come on, y'all bunch of procrastinators! I'm a hankerin' for some pork fer dinner tonight!"

Once they had begun to walk again, Kival turned to Ornery. "Shouldn't you have some sort of demon companion to help us fight?"

The warlock blinked, realizing that, once again, the imp was nowhere to be seen. He sighed. "Sometimes I get this crazy and clearly inaccurate impression that Piznik doesn't like me. Oh well, I'll just summon Volgrax."

* * *

"Twenty-eight bottles of beer on the wall! Twenty-eight bottles of beer! Take one down and pass it around, twenty… twenty… Drat, hey Pizzy! What's after twenty-eight?"

The imp hiccupped. "Twenty-nine."

"Oh, right. Twenty-nine bottles of beer… blah, skip that. Pass it around, twenty-eight bottles of…. Hey wait, I just did that! Pizzy! Something's wrong with the numbers!"

Piznik cursed wildly. "I told you not to call me that!" After a moment, however, the Prince and the imp had forgotten whatever it was they had been arguing about.

A moment after that, Piznik blinked. "Curshesh! That dratted Ornery is dismissing m-" The imp froze in the middle of a word before fading away.

The Prince blinked, the shrugged. "More for me! Twenty-eight bottles of beer on the wall! Pass it around, twenty… oh hell, I still can't remember."

* * *

Lucius sighed. Being the only competent member in a group of idiots was certainly a difficult task, but it was even worse when he was ignored by the narration, a narration that was foolishly passing the fourth wall for no reason. The mage sat in the shade of a guard tower, wondering if the Prince would ever finish his drinking bout, and when the other three would be back.

Just then, an alarm was sounded by the guards. One rode by on a wolf, waving his hands wildly while shouting "The Alliance is coming! The Alliance is coming!" However, waving his hands made it rather hard to balance and control his mount, and the rider ran straight into the Flight Master, who was knocked out.

"N00b!" a nearby troll shouted furiously, "How can I fly to TB now?"

The rider blinked. "TB? What's TB? And why are you leaving? You need to help defeat the invaders!"

"No way! Too busy! Too low level! Can't do it! N00b!"

Lucius stood and ascended to the top of the guard tower. From that vantage point, he could see several approaching figures, but not nearly the number he had expected to cause such a panic in the Crossroads. When he returned to the ground, however, the outpost was in an uproar.

The guards of the east entrance charged when the Alliance came close enough, and were quickly slaughtered. _Powerful attackers_ Lucius thought, unhappily. His group had abandoned him, the Crossroads soldiers were being slaughtered, and the Flight Master was down, removing his best method of escape. This sort of thing happened far too often to someone of his supposed competence.

The first invader Lucius saw was a gnome, apparently a rogue. He was chanting some sort of warcry, and it took a moment for Lucius to understand what he was saying. He grimaced when he realized that the gnome was repeating "Honor Kill!" over and over.

Just behind him was a Night Elf, which made Lucius grimace. It was a female, of course, and by her outfit (all black, far too tight leather) she was another rogue. She wasn't saying anything, but she was stabbing things.

The last of the attackers, shockingly, was not a rogue. Rather, it was another night elf, a druid in cat form. Lucius did not consider himself an expert on druids, but according to his studies, the cat form of the druid was very similar in capabilities to a person trained as a rogue.

_Three rogues… I can handle rogues. I can handle _anything.

* * *

As soon as Volgrax was summoned, she began to fuss over Ornery. "Look at your head! Hair or no hair, you need to do something by way of washing that! Your robes are all dirty! You look like you were dragged through the desert for a mile! And I still don't see an engagement ring! I hope you don't think I'm taking care of you forever."

The Voidwalker then happened to notice Kival standing there. She smiled at Ornery, leaning close to him. "Is that your new girlfriend?"

The warlock shook his head, too oblivious to be embarrassed. "I don't think Kival likes anyone."

"Oh, don't be _shy_! Introduce me!"

Rolling his eyes, Ornery motioned toward Volgrax. "This is Volgrax. Volgrax, this is Kival."

"Hey," the warrior said indifferently, before turning away.

"Why hellooooookay where is she going? How rude! Ornery, must you be attracted to such a rude woman? Honestly, I thought I had raised you better! I practically raised you, and people are supposed to be attracted to people similar to their caretakers in personality. Are you implying that I am rude by dating someone who is rude?"

"Hey! Will y'all hurry up back there! We have to hurry up if we're ever gonna find them boars and tear their tusks out!" Volgrax blinked, then noticed Rosham leading the way.

She glared at him, then turned to Ornery. "_You_ could be leading the group, you know! Be assertive, you big chicken! How do you ever expect to get married if you aren't assertive?"

As it happened, they were very close to where the quillboars had built their crude huts against a stony hill, wrapped with massive thorny vines. The boar-men wandered around, burrowing for… truffles or something. Rosham paused when the village came into sight and breathed deeply. "We're close. I kin smell 'em."

"They're right there," Kival pointed out in a moan.

Rosham glared at her. "I know that! I smelled 'em a mile away with this here smeller of mine! How do ya THINK I found my way here"

"I assumed you were following the grisly trail of dead, partially eaten orcs surrounded by hoof-prints."

"Ya take all the fun out of everythin', ya know?"

"Yeah, I know. Everyone tells me that. I wonder sometimes if my utter lack of happiness and enthusiasm is the reason that I have no friends, let alone lovers, and feel a constant emptiness deep within my soul."

The tauren blinked at her, then shuddered. "Don't ever talk to me again."

"I get that a lot too."

Volgrax elbowed Ornery in the gut. "Hear that? She's single! Go ask her out."

Ornery made a face at the Voidwalker. "But I don't wanna. She might say no. I barely know her. Where would we go? What would we talk about? She probably doesn't like me. I'm too shy. I have prior arrangements."

The demon sighed huffily. "Why _do_ you bother to summon me if you're not even going to listen to what I have to say? Fine, _don't_ ask her out! That'll sure show _me_! I hope you realize that the perfect woman isn't going to just _throw_ herself at you some day!"

Ornery was going to answer, but was interrupted when he heard a bestial squeal from behind him. Before he could turn around, a hefty quillboar had landed on his back, driving him to the ground. It proceeded to pummel him mercilessly with a large club. Volgrax sighed. "Now see what you've done? If I've told you once, I've told you a million times: pay attention to your surroundings!"

The quillboar refused to move, until Rosham handily shot it off with his large rifle. He cackled evilly while he loaded another shot and blasted the creature again. Kival started to tell him that the beast was dead after the fifth time he shot it, but decided that he probably wouldn't care anyway.

Ornery stood, rubbing the back of his head. "Thanks Rosham! You're a real pal!"

The tauren turned, blinking at Ornery. "Yer _alive_? I was sure that thing had finished ya off. Guess I shoulda waited an extra minute…"

The warlock laughed, slapping the much larger Rosham on the shoulder. "You're such a crack up! I'm glad I have such funny friends!"

Rosham glared at him. "I ain't yer friend, baldy. And don't touch me. Cummon now, I figured out how ya kin help me beat the pigs."

Ornery was glad that the plan turned out to be simple, but after he had acted as bait for three quillboars and sustained significant injuries, he started to wonder if he might switch places with Rosham. "Ain't possible," the hunter explained, "If I was the bait, who would shoot the pigs?"

"Well… maybe I could do it…"

"Oh puh-LEEZ! Y'all couldn't _handle_ Gertrude here. She'd backlash ya to Orgrimmar and miss to boot! No, it's best if I handle the shootin'."

Ornery sighed. "I can't argue with that logic." Volgrax slapped him over the head, then floated away to stand behind Rosham, and far away from the crowds of quillboars that the hapless warlock was attracting.

* * *

Fine, so maybe he _couldn't_ handle three rogues by himself.

The fight had gone well at first. Lucius had used polymorph to turn the night elf into a sheep, leaving her helpless. He had then struck the druid with a pyroblast. He had ignored the gnome, having decided that it wasn't much of a threat by itself.

The giant cat, of course, had charged him after he had hit it with a giant ball of fire, so Lucius had then used Frost Nova to freeze it in place. Moving backward, he had proceeded to blast the beast with frost bolts, harming it and slowing it down as it tried to approach him. In that way, he would have managed to kill it so he could then turn his attention to the other night elf, before the polymorph wore off.

Unfortunately, Lucius did not look where he was going as he backed up. With its dread call of "Honor kill!", the gnome sapped Lucius. The night elf returned to its roguish form, and the ice wore off the large cat, and soon three Alliance attackers surrounded the helpless mage.

_This is the part_ Lucius thought to himself _where someone will show up to help me. Bah, who am I kidding. Heroic, last minute rescues never actually happen._

Sadly, irony did not rear its ugly head, and no rescue came. Or perhaps the fact that Lucius was despairing with the hope that what he thought couldn't happen in order to be ironic would and ending up being right to despair was the irony of the situation. In any case, Lucius was creamed.

The mage fell to the ground, and with one last gasp, died.

* * *

Luckily for Lucius, death is but a temporary thing in the World of Warcraft. And for that matter, he was Undead, so technically he had already defied death before.

Anyway, he opened his eyes and found himself in a world almost completely lacking in color. The only colorful thing in sight was the angelic being that floated above him, glowing blue. The spirit healer gazed at him impassively.

Lucius would normally have returned to his corpse and revived there, but his killers were still there, and now he was vulnerable to attack. Instead, he spoke to the Spirit Healer, who quickly restored him to his living flesh. Or in his case, non-living flesh. Un-living, perhaps. Undead flesh. Adjectives aside, Lucius quickly made his way away from the Crossroads, at least until he was no longer vulnerable to attack by the three rogues.

When he judged that he was safe, the mage sat to recover his strength and wait out the resurrection sickness. While there, he checked his map. Thanks to modern magic, he could use his map to immediately find not only his position, but that of his group. The Prince, predictably, was still in the pub within the Crossroads. The other three were to the south, and seemed to be traveling further in that direction. Lucius cursed. Couldn't they follow simple directions? This was all that cursed troll's fault!

With a sigh, Lucius rose and started for Rosham's position. Obviously it would be better to stick together. If they were lucky, perhaps the Prince would be killed by the raiders. Lucius sighed again when he remembered that the priest had the same benefit of resurrection that he himself had just utilized.

He must have done that on purpose.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Prince had just awakened from his alcohol-induced doze to realize that the inn was empty. He stood groggily, holding his head and moaning. His massive hangover clouded his thinking somewhat, but he did manage to realize that the Crossroads should not be devoid of life.

He started to stumble outside, but backed away, both because of the painful light and because he saw a trio of Alliance attackers raiding the town.

The Prince, of course, could not speak a word of the Alliance common tongue. Therefore, this entire exchange would have sounded rather like gibberish to him. It would be unfair to have more knowledge than the poor troll, so if all the readers would kindly pretend everything below is unreadable, the Prince would be very grateful.

The night elf rogue chuckled villainously. "These Hordies are such pushovers!"

The druid, still in his cat form, nodded in agreement. "Remember when all the good fighters were on the Horde and the Alliance gained the reputation of being full of idiots? Hah! Those days are certainly past!"

She grinned, though it wasn't visible under her… bandana thingy. "It's probably because of those blood elves. Geez, who thought it was a good idea for them to join the Horde?"

The two night elves had a good laugh about that, but were interrupted by the gnome, who ran past them, jumping needlessly and shouting "Honor kill!".

"Why _did_ we bring him along?" the druid asked, "He's kind of undermining the point we just made about Alliance superiority. Next thing you know, we're going to suddenly be attacked by blood elves that immediately defeat-"

The druid, of course, was cut off by the sword of a blood elf paladin standing behind him. The other night elf moved to attack, but suddenly shrieked with terror as a dark aura surrounded her. In the grips of the Fear spell, she ran around helplessly while the other blood elf, a warlock, cackled melodramatically. The paladin kicked the gnome forcefully, and he ran away.

The druid rose, howling with rage. "Traitorous descendents of my people! I will tear you limb from limb, and feast upon your corpses! You shall suffer for betraying the Alliance and the night elves in ages past, fallen highbourne!"

Sadly, that wonderful speech was not understood by the orcish-speaking audience, which proceeded to stab and blast the druid with bolts of darkness. He ran away, followed by the other rogue, both whimpering.

The paladin, a handsome male blood elf with flowing blonde hair that reeked of bishounen-ness (whatever that means) raised his broadsword into the air to cheer. "We are victorious! Dear sister, no fiend of the Alliance can defeat us! The misshapen night elves, denizens of darkness, are no match for the champions of the light!"

The warlock, in the meantime, was examining her hand. "I think I broke a nail… Oh, those beasts. I'll make them pay for this later."

The paladin gaped at his sister. "Darthellia! Are you not exhilarated by our fantastic victory?"

"Not really," she replied, not looking up, "They were just an irritating distraction from our mission. Come, Ethael. We head north, to Ashenvale. Our mission's goal should be there, and then we shall gain the prize, which I shall use, regardless of the master's intent, for my own purposes!"

"The purposes of heroism!"

"Sure, fine, whatever." With that, the paladin mounted a large warhorse, and the warlock a demonic steed, and together rode off to the north.

When the two were gone, the Prince shrugged. "Freaks. Why did we let them into the Horde, anyway?" The troll rubbed his head, then headed south after the rest of his party.

* * *

While Ornery recovered from his grievous wounds, Kival glanced over at Rosham, who was cleaning his rifle. "I've been wondering… if you're a hunter, where is your pet?"

The tauren scoffed, then began to guffaw. "Idjit! Real hunters don't need no pets to take the hits for 'em! I kin defeat any opponent all by me lonesome! Beasts TREMBLE before me!"

Ornery looked over at him. "But don't you ever get lonely?"

Rosham snorted. "Pshaw! I'm a hunter! We're all lone ranger types. So long as I got me gun here, I don't need no other company! Now heal up them wounds, baldy. I wanna get back to shootin' quillboars!"

"We've already finished the quest, you know," Kival said tonelessly, "We don't really need to kill any more quillboars, or mutilate their corpses for tusks. We could go back…"

Rosham glared at her. "Have I told ya before that ya take the fun outta everythin'?"

"Yes," she said.

"Well, it's still true. Ornery, are ya ready _yet_?"

The warlock jumped to his feet, nodding and grinning exuberantly. He ran off, waving his arms and shouting, and soon attracted several attackers who quickly ran him down and began savagely beating him. Volgrax sighed, shaking her head. "It's almost embarrassing to say that I am his slave," she said with a moan.

* * *

With a moan, the Prince collapsed to the ground melodramatically. He was now lost in the desert, his group nowhere in sight, and countless unknown beasts all about him, perhaps waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump out and attack him.

A rustle in the nearby shrubbery caused the Prince to jump to his feet, mace in hand. After a moment, a thought occurred to him. _Why is there one bush sitting there, surrounded by barren nothingness? And furthermore, why is it _moving

Said bush suddenly stood up, supported by large, hoofed feet, and took several steps closer to the troll before dropping back to the ground. The Prince sighed. "You're not fooling anyone. Just come out before I start smiting you."

"Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I'm trying to use stealth here, blue guy!"

The Prince blinked. Blue guy? Then, without warning, a large brown blur rocketed from the bush, through the air, landing, or rather, crashing to the ground behind him. He turned to see a female tauren sprawled on the ground, looking rather sheepish.

"I-I meant to do that," she said, standing up and brushing herself off. She was wearing all black leather, and the Prince noticed a dagger at her side, and so did not put his own weapon away, just in case. After she had regained her composure, she did indeed draw her dagger, crouching down in an attack stance. "Surrender the gold, or I'll start eviscerating!"

The Prince smirked. "What's with the dagger? Couldn't find a real weapon?"

"Don't be silly! All the best rogues use daggers!"

That statement threw the priest off balance. He blinked at her, then sighed. "Lady, you're a tauren. Tauren can't be rogues because-"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah yeah, I know. We're too _honorable_."

"Actually, I was going to say it's because you're all too bulky and fat to be sneaking around, but I guess that works too."

She stamped her foot… hoof angrily. "I don't care what those old farts on Thunder Bluff say! I'm the first ever tauren rogue!"

"Uh huh," the Prince sighed, "So what's your name, kid?"

"Rouge!"

He blinked. "I hope you didn't pick a name like that because you weren't sure how to spell 'rogue'. I guess your parents might have named you that, but they must have been really short on ideas to have-"

"Don't be silly! Rouge means red, and red is my favorite color! Now fork over the gold, Tusky the clown!"

"Geez, the nicknames…" the Prince pursed his lips thoughtfully, then smiled, "Tell you what: instead of giving you gold, I'll give you some free rogue lessons. I myself am a rogue, as it happens."

Rouge blinked. "But you're wearing priestly robes…"

"It's part of my clever disguise. Do you want the lessons or not?" Rouge nodded enthusiastically, "Good. That'll be twenty silver for the lessons."

"Didn't you say the lessons were free?"

"I have no recollection of saying that," After she had paid, the Prince smiled, "Lesson number one: when using a bush as a disguise, don't move when the person you're stalking is looking directly at you. Lesson two: back stabbing works best from behind. Lesson three: uh…"

"Is something wrong, sensei?"

"Uh, nope… Oh, I know: don't attempt to mug people who can annihilate you with one blast of light magic. Got all that?"

Rouge nodded. "Yep! No wait… I forgot it all. Can you tell me again so I can write it all down?"

"Sure, but first, I need you to go buy a notepad."

"I have one right here!" she said, holding it up to show him.

"Wrong kind. You need to get one with blue paper. They might sell those in the Crossroads, but then again, they might not. Go buy a notepad with blue paper, and then come back here and I'll repeat the lessons. Oh, and you might as well pay me in advance, so that'll be twenty gold."

Rouge nodded. "Okie-day! I'll be right back!"

When she was out of sight, the Prince chuckled. "That was almost too easy."

* * *

Kival paused to rest for a moment on a large rock. Almost as soon as she sat, she saw the hunched form of Lucius approaching. She considered waving him over, but didn't feel like it. The mage walked past her before doing a double-take and returning. "Where is Rosham? I need to strangle that absurdly thick neck of his."

"He's looking for Mankirk's wife. Apparently, she died somewhere around here, but Rosham can't find the body to put Mankirk's mind at peace."

"Oh… that's nice. And Ornery?"

"He's over there, teaching those quillboars how to read."

Lucius turned arching an eyebrow. "Ah… well, anyway, go find Rosham. We need to get moving, and I'm tired of waiting for him and for that lazy idiot. I don't care if he doesn't come: we're heading north with or without that priest."

Kival sighed. "You could at least say please," she grumbled, standing to look for Rosham.

She found him after a few minutes of searching. He was busily scanning the ground for any trace of the deceased orc woman, while being followed by a large raptor that, for some reason, was not attacking him. Kival sighed. "Changed your mind about not wanting a pet?"

Rosham scowled at her. "I thought it seemed colder around here. Yar, I caved. The raptor was just too freakin' cool to pass up. Help me with the lookin' here."

"A 'please' would be appreciated. It doesn't cost anything to be polite."

The tauren glared at her. "It costs time and breath! Git down and find that dead orc lady right now, or I'll blast yer butt-ugly head off!"

* * *

Ornery waved goodbye to the quillboars when Lucius called him over. As soon as he was gone, one of them cackled evilly. "At last! With our newfound ability to read, we will be able to decipher these plans of Orgrimmar and find the best way to invade the city! Soon, the Barrens will be ours once again!"

Meanwhile, the Prince had finally shown up. Lucius sighed. "I see you finally wrested yourself from the bar. I don't suppose it has anything to do with those Alliance invaders?"

"Maybe slightly. Anyway, where's the other orc and the mad cow?"

The mage motioned in the direction Kival had gone. "Looking for Mankirk's wife, apparently."

"Why? Is she a looker? Think I have any chance on that action?"

"She's dead."

The Prince shrugged. "That doesn't matter. I can still rob her blind and force myself into the will. Why, what did you think I meant?"

Lucius turned away from him, then sighed again. "Is Kival bringing him or not?! Are we ever going to get this cursed quest over with? Dammit all, this is not worth whatever fabulous rewards we've been promised!"

Suddenly an anguished roar was heard.

* * *

Rosham lifted his gun and shot feebly at a bush. "I can't find her! I've looked everywhere in this damn desert, and she's nowhere to be found!"

With a howl, he fell to his knees, and shouted at the skies "Where in hell is Mankirk's **wwwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifffffffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee**?!"

"Wasn't that kind of melodramatic?"


End file.
